


It Takes A Village

by Pollymel



Category: Circle of Magic - Pierce
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 22:16:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pollymel/pseuds/Pollymel





	It Takes A Village

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mari4212](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mari4212/gifts).



The sound of the looms was gradually getting louder, Niko observed. He was sitting in the young girl's bedroom again, ignoring the affront and indignation of the maids. Regardless of what they believed was the role of a male great mage, he knew that one of the most important things he had done here was to find this girl. His dignity and her reputation could certainly survive the time he spent sitting here in between working with what remained of the infrastructure of Hatar to help the recovery from the plague.

Not that sitting here seemed to be doing much good. Lady Sandrilene Fa Toren lay still and small in the large bed, a small lump, barely an interruption in the perfectly smoothed blankets. Another man may not have even seen her in the dim room. The curtains remained drawn and there was a lamp that was never extinguished on the table beside the bed. When the light had flooded the small, rank storage room Lady Sandrilene's screams had made it more than clear to him how long she had been sitting in the dark. The panic caused by that sound had almost overwhelmed the panic caused having found such an important personage left and ignored for so long. But even over burdened as they had been, Sandry had been carefully checked by an exhausted healer and bundled out for the care and tactful cleaning her position required. Perfectly healthy as they had been assured that she was, she was lying here, motionless, in the dim room. She was often awake, but seemed content to lie and stare at the ceiling.

Niko sighed as another loom started up on the floor below. More workers scraped together from the empty streets to make the linen for bandages, cleaning cloths and clean clothes for the survivors. Something would have to happen soon or they would lose Lady Sandrilene Fa Toren as surely as if they had not found her in the first place. He settled in his chair and watched the future.

***

Lark watched her new student concentrate on the spindle. Her black silk veil had almost slipped off her head and her black dress was dusted with pale wool fibres. Lark had had a feeling she would be gaining a new student when Niko had brought Lady Sadrilene, or Sandry as she had already insisted, back to Emelan. Niko would never do anything so straight forward as to state outright that he had found a girl with ambient thread magic, but Lark had known him long enough to be sure of his hints. Rosethorn had been more than a little cranky from Niko's suggestions towards his other foundling, Briar, but scratchy as she was she couldn't resist young things in any form. A suspicious and bitey young one who didn't know civilized manners was precisely what she could least resist.

The other two, well they were going to have to watch and see. There weren't any weather mages around so Niko had caught himself properly with Trisana. The Trader girl was a bit of a mystery so far. Fitting in and adjusting to being Trangshi would be more than difficult enough without ambient magic developing. Lark was well aware of the Traders' disdain for people who worked with their hands. Which was exactly what most ambient mages did. Stop setting the cart before the horse, she told herself, here in Winding Circle these things had a way of working themselves out.

Here and now, Lark had her own student to work out. Sandry had fallen on the spindle and spinning lessons eagerly, her momentary hesitation obviously due to repeated lectures on what was proper to her rank. If she was going to be a stitch witch, which was what it looked like, she was going to have to give up on what was proper for her rank.

Sandry would probably have to give up on more than a few things, Lark was well aware. They had to learn control and to use their magic so that it did not escape that control. Ambient mages were generally picked up much later than scholarly mages, so they had more of an idea what life could have been. Lark knew that she had been quite, quite ancient compared to many by the time she had figured out her magic. Certainly her history was more than enough preparation to shake 'proper' out of any student she may have. While she was very happy to be a dedicate and to live here in Winding Circle with Rosethorn, finding out that she was a thread mage had changed her life. It would certain change her student's.

Sandry had already had a very different life to most noble young ladies. She had certainly seen a lot more places, following along behind her parents as the travelled in search of pleasure. Lark had been watching as Sandry had tried to make friends with the other new students in Disciple. She admired Sandry's ability and comfort in befriending those around her, but Lark suspected that this was hard won habit. Moving all the time, often into spheres with few children of her rank, Sandry had obviously learnt to be friendly and personable where ever she went. Lark hoped that Sandry would be able to settle here as she had not in the main dormitories.

As a child who had so recently lost her parents and nurse, who had been the only constants in her life, Sandry was going to have to create her own pattern at a very young age. Perhaps that was part of the reason she was trying so hard to create bonds with her fellow Discipline students. She would probably be trying to create some sense of normalcy out of all of these earthquakes in her life, while not knowing what that normalcy would look like. Lark could try to offer a framework, but the weaving was to be her student's own.

She smiled as Sandry managed a short length of cord. "I have to wind the thread" she murmured. This first thread was a start, lumpy though it was, and she was more than curious to see how things would spin from here.

***  
"They are so young," Dedicate Crane pointed out. Which was both obvious and unhelpful.

The Winding Circle Initiate Council, or as many of them as could be spared for this particular meeting, were discussing what everyone knew would be a complex and delicate issue.

"They are," Niko agreed. "However, they have had more intense training for the last four years than they may have found anywhere else or under different circumstances ." He smoothed his moustache. "I believe they have excellent control over their powers. Certainly, I am sure we would have felt the affects if they had not."

Dedicate Moonstream nodded her agreement. "I would be reluctant to send them outside Winding Circle without some acknowledgement of their status. I think that the responsibilities that come with their mage status would probably be appreciated."

Unexpectedly, Dedicate Gorse was taking some time away from his kitchens. "It wouldn't be effective to give one of them their medallion and not the others," he suggested, "but let's look at them as individuals, even if we forget that they are four individuals sometimes." He didn't often say much in these council sessions, but when he did they listened.

Dedicate Moonstream acknowledged this. "That might be wise. Shall we start with Lady Sandrilene? Lark, you are her teacher, what do you think?"

Lark smiled and spread her hands on the table in front of her. "Sandry is remarkable," she said. "As they all are. She has a good understanding of both the practical aspects of spinning, weaving and craftwork and the magical potential. She has good control of her work and her power. I believe she has been mostly working as a colleague rather than a student for some time now."

Niko nodded. "We have discussed magic theory and she understands much of it very well." He exchanged looks with Lark. "I have not met any thread mages that could spin or work with magic the way that Sandrilene can."

Dedicate Crane leaned forward. "I haven't seen any of this working. Do you believe that she has understand and control of it?"

"She does." Lark was firm. "She had to discover it when they were trapped by the earthquake, but by the time she rewove their magics, it was clear and in control. We've worked with it since." Most people in the room understood ambient magic, but she explained anyway. "She perceives magic as something she can spin or manipulate as I would thread or cloth. Which I haven't encountered before."

Dedicate Gorse spoke again. "Being accredited is not simply about what you can do with magic. It is also about your responsibilities."

"That is something that she is not short of," snorted Rosethorn abruptly. "She is not a thimble witted noble, but she does have a noble's sense of what she owes others. In fact, try to stop her."

Dedicate Crane smiled stiffly. "I believe that those four do not lack a sense of responsibility." His reluctant approval made Lark smile again. "And perhaps the accreditation and having to answer to the council instead of simply the their teachers may be the next step."

***

The wonder of having a medallion was still shiny and new. Sandry knew that they were spelled not to think about it very frequently, but couldn't help but be aware of the ribbon around her neck as she was aware of every scrap of thread or stitching near her.

She was setting up her loom in the room in Discipline Cottage and working on a particular pattern she thought might make a good weave for one of Daja's winter outfits for far northern Namorn when she became aware of the calm glow that was Lark waiting by the door. She remained leaning over the frame and said "This colour green reminds me of Daja, what do you think?"

Lark moved closer and inspected the threads. "It does. Is it a present for her trip?"

"She doesn't really have any appropriate clothing for the cold," Sandry explained. "I know she doesn't get that cold, but I thought she should have some anyway."

Lark touched the threads that were a few shades lighter than her own robes gently. "This looks good, I believe it will suit her," she said. "Do you have a minute to have a cup of tea before you start?"

Sandry shifted back and looked over her shoulder at Lark in surprise. "Of course! Is there anything wrong?"

Lark's tiny catlike face stretched into her kind smile. "No, nothing's wrong, we've been very busy and I'd like a moment before we get busy again."

Sandry sent the threads into tidy rest beside the loom. "Of course." She shook out her skirts as she straightened. "We have been busy."

Lark had already put the kettle on to boil and she moved around the kitchen neatly, preparing the tea and shooing Sandry to the table. By the time they had both settled, Sandry was curious regardless of Lark's reassurances. "Was there something in particular you wanted to talk about?" she prodded.

Lark laughed. "You managed to resist asking for so long, I didn't think your curiosity could stand it," she teased. "Like I said, nothing serious, dear one. But I did want to talk to you a little about how you feel about your new status."

Sandry laughed. "I don't know if I am sure what it is," she said. "I am certainly not sure I am ready to stop being your student."

"Which is probably part of why I was happy to let you move on," Lark said.

Sandry didn't feel convinced. "I know I have a lot to keep learning." She shook her head. Some days it felt like as much as she had stuffed her head with the reasons and theory behind magic she would never really understand it. As for learning about weaving craft, that was almost as vast an ocean.

Lark sipped her tea. "I don't think that we can ever stop learning, my dear. It's only the very young who know all there is to know."

Sandry laughed. "Perhaps fourteen year olds, for instance?"

"You've never been a normal child," Lark said. "And I certainly don't believe you've ever been that young."

Sandry blushed. She had always felt older than her years and the days spent in the dark after watching her parents die and hearing her nurse killed had taken away any innocence. The weeks staring at the ceiling listening to looms afterwards had made her feel even older.

She thought perhaps that was part of why she hadn't fit in to the school classes and dormitory when she had first come to Winding Circle. She hadn't thought about that time in a long time; she had found her new family at Discipline. She loved her sisters and brother and they had become friends, family and part of her mind and magic.

She was hardening her heart to the thought of them all leaving soon. Daja and Briar had both come to her to talk about going away. They had asked her permission, the silly kids. As if she could say no. She had smiled and offered to make them some appropriate clothing, not that their wardrobes were lacking after all her efforts and experiments over the last four years. She was waiting for Tris to come to her next. It would be funny to see prickly Tris asking permission for anything, but Sandry was beginning to get quite lonely in anticipation and didn't feel like laughing.

Lark sipped her tea. "I just wanted to make sure you knew that this does not mean things need to change," she assured Sandry. "If nothing else, we always have more bandages to make."

Sandry laughed. "There are always bandages," she agreed.

***

The messenger gasped out his message and Sandry turned her face blindly towards Lark, not noticing the spindle unravelling in front of her. "I have to go! I have to go to Uncle." Lark looked as stunned as she did and nodded. "The horses, I'll help you saddle them."

Sandry never really remembered much from her dash to her Uncle. She had a memory of the blanket and saddle carrying itself to the horse as she ran in. She remembered thinking that the trip had never seemed quite so long before, and then she was at the keep.

Then, unfortunately, things slowed down. Sandry barely noticed at first, but the servants caught up and stood in front of her.

"My lady," a manservant said firmly, "you will not wish to disturb his grace."

Sandry would have ignored this obvious ignorance, but another maid stepped forward. "My lady, you can wait in the drawing room for news."

Drawing herself to her greatest height, which was not very great, Sandry frowned. "I wish to be with my uncle."

The guard who had finally caught up was not impressed. "It would not be appropriate for a gentlewoman as yourself to be in the sickroom," he said. "The healers will be here shortly."

There were too many of them to walk around, although Sandry briefly tried. They insisted on her staying in the drawing room to wait for news as was appropriate. They mentioned 'appropriate' and 'wishes' until Sandry thought she would scream. Her jaw set and her nose got higher. Her siblings would have recognised this expression and waited gleefully to see who was going to get the worst of Lady Sadrilene's nobility.

One of the guards was saying something about waiting and Sandry took a deep breath and interrupted him. "I will go to my uncle," she said in a calm, clear voice. "I really must insist."

The guards shook their heads and began to explain once more why she should not go into Dude Vedris's chamber. They didn't get a chance. Sandry sent her magic out. First, it settled over the men and women standing in the Hall who were getting in her way. Before they realised what was happening their sleeves unravelled then rewove binding their arms to their sides. Their pants and skirts knit themselves tightly around their legs and most of them fell over between one breath and the next. Even as they fell the tapestries and carpets around them twisted and flowed to add to the cocoons. They twisted and spun the staff so that they were no longer in Sandry's way. She was already walking forward as they twisted. She stepped into her uncle's room, without turning back to them, she murmured "I really do insist."

She hurried forward to the bed, already forgetting the obstacles to get there. Her uncle was gaunt and grey and still. She threw her magic around him. While she was not a healer she knew she could support him for a time. She could sense the knotted confusion of energy around his heart and she wrapped tiny silken threads of her power around it, supporting the stuttering beat. She knelt by the bed and clasped his hand, maintaining her power. She was there when the healers arrived and while she withdrew her power instantly as they requested, and retreated to one side of the room, she stayed close.

She didn't notice the commotion in the hall as her cocooned obstructions were found and had to be cut out. She didn't notice either that no one suggested that she leave the room. In fact those coming and going actively avoided her as she waited.

She watched the blaze of magic as the healers threw their power at the Duke's heart and finally relaxed as they withdrew. By this time, Baron Erdogun fer Blaigh was waiting beside her. The healers turned to them both, Dedicate Comfrey holding out a hand to them.

"He has been pushing himself," she said. The baron and Sandry nodded. This was common knowledge. "He needs to rest and recover. He could certainly have another heart attack, his heart is weakened. And if he pushes himself it is inevitable." Dedicate Comfrey didn't mince words. Sandry nodded then turned to the Baron.

"I will stay here for a while," she said. "I must help my uncle." The healer nodded approvingly. The baron also nodded and waved for a page who stepped reluctantly closer to the group, noticeably standing as far from Sandry as he could.

"Please send a message to Discipline Cottage, Lady Sandrilene will be staying for a time," the Baron ordered.

"Dedicate Lark will know what of my belongings I will need," Sandry agreed. She was turning back to the bed even as the page left. She sat down beside the bed again to watch her uncle sleep, a little more colour in his face now.

***

Sandry had spent hours in her room, nominally repairing household linen. She hadn't been concentrating solely on that busywork. While her hands were busy in her mind she walked through every stitch and step in what had happened in Durshan Rokat's house. She'd thought of dozens of ways it could have turned out differently. Being the practical person she was at her core, she knew that whatever she twisted in her mind, it couldn't change what had happened. From the moment the assassins had taken Pascoe hostage, she would and could have done nothing differently.

She had washed compulsively several times after finishing with the Harriers and the end of the hunt. Eventually, she realised that like her dreams of unmagic, this was not something she could clean off. Worse, as with collecting, spinning and knotting the unmagic, it was her magic that felt soiled. She'd used it to kill three people. To rip them to pieces. She knew it would be quite some time before she felt clean.

Until then she had some very long and thorough baths and planned more. She also understood properly now why Tris had spent those weeks working in the infirmary after the pirates.

She had thought that completing the net and catching the assassins would stop the drowning dreams. Still she woke up gasping, feeling the clinging hungry emptiness of the pools of unmagic against her skin. The Harrier mages had sent word that they had backtracked the assassins and had found and collected it all. She was wearily grateful that they had thought of it and she thought that perhaps she was sleeping a little longer between dreams now.

In the quiet of her rooms her thoughts started to spiral outwards again. No longer only obsessing about the last few weeks she thought about her uncle. He was stronger, certainly, and she had high hopes for his romance with Yazmin. Even so, she did not think she could go back to Discipline Cottage. Her uncle needed her, and if Baron Erdogun's snapping was any indication, she could take some of the load of managing the household from his shoulders as well.

Even aside from duty, it was a little embarrassing to admit, she enjoyed living in the Duke's Citadel. She was needed and busy and she enjoyed the work she did to help her uncle. She could even admit, with some internal squirming, that she enjoyed both her responsibilities and the respect she got here. Not that she didn't adore living at Winding Circle, but it seemed rather cramped in comparison. She had no idea how she would tell Lark and found herself hesitating about how to tell her siblings, even in letters.

***

At some point over the last four years these dinners had started. Perhaps they had grown out of Sandry's meetings with Yazmin to discuss Pascoe's progress. It made sense for Lark to come as well when she was in town, so they were arranged on the evening of market day. Duke Vedris had started coming as well, making time in his frantic schedule, and somehow a tradition was born.

When Sandry herself had just started her trip to Namorn, the other three still met. The dinner seemed a little quieter and a little less cheerful without her.

Duke Vedris stretched a little in his seat. While careworn, he looked much healthier and happier than he had when Yazmin had first met him, so shortly after his heart attack. His clothes were also brighter, and carefully sewn and embroidered by Sandry for health and protection. He looked at the two ladies ruefully. "I know that they have all had a lot of experience travelling," he admitted, "but I still worry about them."

Yazmin laughed and put a reassuring hand on his sleeve. "I pity any trouble that befalls those four."

"I agree," Lark said. "But I do understand, your grace. They are all mages and experienced mages at that, and yet they are so young, barely eighteen."

They each sat and contemplated the table in front of them.

"Nevertheless, I really would not like to get in their way," Yazmin voiced the thoughts they all had.

Duke Vedris sighed. "It only seems a moment since Niko arrived with my unexpected scrawny, pale and silent great niece."

Lark laughed. "All big eyes and tiny nose, and then she got some confidence. There was no stopping her." She told again of the tiny ten year old Sandry's defiance and defence of Briar and his freshly stolen Shakkan.

Duke Vedris added his story of the heroic rescue of Little Bear and the street fight in the market place. Yazmin smiled. "You must be terribly proud of her,"she said gently.

Both Lark and Vedris nodded. They exchanged looks. "She has always been a delight," Lark agreed. "Stubborn too. I am proud of her."

"She has a good head on those shoulders," Duke Vedris agreed. "As you say, obstinate, but she makes good decisions. She is careful and thoughtful beyond her years." He sighed. "I am hopeful that will choose to return, I miss her voice in my council. I'm not sure that my household knows how to function without her."

Lark and Yazmin both considered this and laughed again. "Your grace, she loves you," Yazmin told him. "She could no more consider leaving Emelan for good than she would consider..." she tried to think of something sufficiently unlikely.

"Giving up weaving," Lark supplied.

With that, they all had to be satisfied.


End file.
